Poetry in Motion
by draco-is-the-punk
Summary: MWPP era, Remus is up in the middle of the night writing poetry when he gets some inspiration. SBxRL oneshot


The Gryffindor Common Room was dark and quiet, the silence punctuated only by the scratching of a quill on parchment, and the occasional yawn. Remus glanced at the poem he had been writing, his eyes skidding down the few short lines. He sighed, and in one swift movement, he crumpled up the poem and threw it into the fire. Two previous attempts were still smouldering in the grate, and their predecessors were nothing more than ash. He didn't even know why he had got up in the dead of night to write his poetry. He had certainly not got very far. Everything he had written so far sounded like sanctimonious false rubbish, and he had destroyed each one without compassion.

He yawned, and chewed his quill absent-mindedly. The problem was, he couldn't think of anything worth writing about. The words wouldn't come anymore, and Remus wondered whether his flair for verse had dissolved. He hoped not; it was the one he thing he prized and held over the others. He sank backwards in his armchair, and looked vaguely out at the night sky. His mind drifted upstairs to the dormitory, where all his friends were fast asleep. He smiled in spite of himself as he imagined Sirius' face if he knew that Remus had been up all night. It was usually Sirius that burned the midnight oil, sneaking out with James to do some kind of mischievous skulduggery. Remus was the good one, always in bed, well rested, homework done… it got a little irksome after a while, always in the same routine. In fact, Remus almost envied Sirius and James. Well, Sirius in particular. His black haired friend almost emanated spontaneity and youth. You found yourself having fun whenever he was with you.

Remus was suddenly struck by inspiration. He grabbed a fresh piece of parchment, and loaded his eagle feather quill with violet ink. He paused, the point of his quill resting on the parchment, and wondered how to begin. He started to write, the quill swooping and dancing across the page as he scribbled away. He wasn't following any sort of structure; his thoughts and feelings flowed onto the parchment unbidden, and surged together like water to create the poem. He worked without pausing as if afraid that taking a break would make him lose his new found stimulation. Eventually, he leaned back and held the poem at arms length, reading it carefully. He had written about Sirius, everything about him. It was almost as though the dark haired teenager was grinning cheekily at him from the stanzas. He didn't know where this sudden epiphany had come from, but he was thankful. Not only had it manifested itself in a beautiful poem, but he had suddenly realised something that he had been wondering for a long time.

Laying his completed poem on the table, he settled himself down for a few moments of quiet contemplation before going back up to the dormitory to catch some sleep. He was pleased with the poem, although he knew that nobody would ever be able to read his best work. It was clear, much too clear, exactly what Remus thought of his friend. He had poured his heart into this piece of poetry, and he would be a laughing stock if anybody else happened to read it. Sighing, he looked outside. The first rays of sunlight were just creeping up the horizon, and he suddenly felt very drained of energy. His eyelids flickered closed, and his head slumped forwards onto his chest. When he eventually woke up, birds were singing, and the common room was filled with a pleasant pinkish glow.

"Hey, Moony!"

He jerked upright, to see Sirius standing in the door way, wearing only his vest and boxers, and stretching. Remus snatched his poem off the table, blushing. This gesture probably was not a good move, as Sirius looked interestedly at the parchment, and at Remus' flushed face.

"What's that?"

"It's nothing!" Remus said tersely. He tried to tuck the poem into his dressing gown pocket, but Sirius was too quick for him. He darted across the room, and seized the poem. Horror-struck, Remus tried to snatch it back, but Sirius pushed him back down on the chair, pinning his arms to his sides with his knees, and reading the poem. Sirius' dark eyebrows shot up, and Remus gave a tiny groan. This was bad… this was really bad… he watched as Sirius perfect lips twitched, mouthing the words _Eyes that burn with incessant fire, flaming glance that fills me with desire…_

Remus closed his eyes and shook his head in despair.

"Sirius…"

"Shush." Sirius said, placing a finger to his lips. Remus wriggled, trying to escape. He remembered what he had written in the next stanza, and he didn't want Sirius to read it. But too late… a faint blush was blossoming in his friend's usually pale cheeks as he read and reread the offending line.

Remus tried again to free his arms, but the long hours Sirius had spent on the Quidditch pitch with James had certainly paid off, and he kept Remus pinned down without much effort. Panting slightly as he squirmed and twisted, he looked desperately up at Sirius' face, hoping to catch a glimpse of emotion. Was Sirius angry, or merely amused? Maybe Sirius would take the whole thing as a joke, and it would be all right. Remus silently cursed himself for even beginning the poem; he should have realised what a bad idea it was from the outset. As he scanned Sirius' face in vain, he prayed that Sirius would not be angry or disgusted with him. Sirius was now holding the poem in front of the teen werewolf, his devastating grey eyes wide and glinting in the morning sunlight.

"Read that bit." he instructed, running his tongue along his gleaming teeth and pointing out a line about half way through the damned poem. Confused, Remus lowered his eyes to the parchment and looked at where Sirius had indicated.

_No-one's smile is as deep or as piercing as his/ I wish I could capture that smile with my kiss._

Remus looked back at Sirius, his mouth dry. He saw to his intense relief that Sirius was smiling, a small half smile playing around the corners of his mouth. Remus tried to speak, but closed his mouth. A huge lump was growing in his throat, and Remus doubted he would be able to make a noise if he tried. Sirius looked coolly down at his prisoner, and lent forwards. His long lustrous dark hair tickled Remus' neck, and Remus could feel his warm breath on his face. Remus gulped, still unable to move. Sirius seemed to have realised that as well. He slid his knees down, so that they were now either side of Remus' thighs, and Remus felt the feeling come slowly back into his arms. He raised his arm a little, but unsure what he had intended to do with it, let it flop limply back onto the chair. Then, so softly that at first Remus wondered if it was his imagination, Sirius spoke.

"You want to kiss me?"

Remus swallowed, his throat feeling like sandpaper, blood pounding in his ears. His heart was thumping a violent drumbeat in his ribcage. He looked at Sirius, whose head was cocked to one side like a dog. There was no point in lying. He licked his dry lips nervously and nodded. He turned his head away, but Sirius put out a hand and turned his head back to face him. When Sirius spoke again, his voice was gravely and hushed.

"Then why don't you?"

Remus' eyes widened as Sirius snaked his arms around Remus' waist, and caught his lips in a searing kiss. For a moment, the whole world seemed to fall away. Exams, Snape, everything Remus had been worrying about became obsolete as he lost himself in Sirius' kiss. It was like fireworks exploding, sending showers of glittering sparks over them both. It was like the feeling when you ate a bar of chocolate, but so much better. A thousand poets could work for a thousand years and still fail to explain the magic of that kiss. The magic was all his. Those eyes, those lips, everything he had painstakingly portrayed in his work… they were all his. Sirius was a poem, and kissing Sirius was poetry in motion.


End file.
